


Keep It Together

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, M/M, PTSD, Pining!Sherlock, Sherlock doesn't know what to do without John, mentions of torture, tumblr ficlets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 01:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1286866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was supposed to be a sentence-or-two long headcanon and it ended up being a few paragraphs instead. I might make this a series of drabbles to give it closure, though, because I hate seeing my Sherlock without his John. (I realize that the other fics I need to update are of a higher priority, but this just sort of....happened. I'm sorry, I am terrible.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep It Together

Sherlock has trouble sleeping after John leaves. The flat is empty and quiet, and the emptiness presses in on him, suffocating him in the dark. It reminds him of the two years’ worth of nights he’d spent away, but at least then he’d had the thought of coming home to John to tide him over. Now he knows this is it, and every time he closes his eyes the smell of blood and the sting of whips against his skin jolt him back awake.

A week after John’s wedding, Sherlock is desperate. He can’t remember the last time he ate, having been preoccupied with distracting himself from the quiet of 221B. The world looks fuzzy around the edges, and he feels as though someone is watching him, constantly, creeping in the shadows and in the corner of his eye. He’s been avoiding Mrs. Hudson and her sympathy, so when he finally ventures downstairs one evening and she pokes her head around the door, she gasps at his appearance.

"Sherlock, dear! Are you ill?"

"No," Sherlock says shortly, his voice rusty from disuse and exhaustion. He clears his throat and tries again. "No."

"You don’t look—"

"Got to run," Sherlock says, cutting her off, and disappears into the night.

Alarmingly, it takes him a moment to remember Lestrade’s address. The cabbie looks at him expectantly while Sherlock’s mind fumbles for it.

"You all right, mate?" The cabbie asks, after Sherlock has given him the address. 

"Fine," Sherlock says. The cabbie shrugs and turns around, pulling out into the street. Sherlock shoves his hands—trembling, how pathetic—into the pockets of his coat and draws it more firmly around himself.

Lestrade takes one look at him and swears.

"Shit, Sherlock, what happened?"

Sherlock pauses, realizing he hasn’t quite thought this through. He opens his mouth, but just then something rattles the window and Sherlock flinches backwards so violently he nearly smacks his head against the wall. He looks wildly at the window, his heart racing, and only comes back to himself when Lestrade lays a hand on his arm.

"Sherlock," Lestrade says, and Sherlock blinks, trying to focus on his face. He can feel his breath coming in short gasps and tries to quell them, clenching his hand into a fist and looking away.

"Christ, mate. Look, just, come inside." Lestrade ushers him into the flat, shutting the door behind him. It smells like Chinese takeaway, which reminds Sherlock of John, and his heart twists unexpectedly. _Pull yourself together_ , John’s voice says in his head. Sherlock takes a breath and tries to muster his thoughts.

"Sorry," he mutters, looking anywhere but at Lestrade’s face. "I couldn’t—I need—can I stay for a night?" He chances a glance upwards. Lestrade looks worried and bemused, his hand still resting on Sherlock’s arm as though afraid Sherlock will fall over.

"Well, yeah," he says, running his free hand over the back of his head. "Of course. But what happened? Are you….hurt?"

"No," Sherlock says. "I…. I need a place to stay. Just for a night."

"Okay," Lestrade says slowly, looking at him. "Sherlock, you really don’t look too good. When was the last time you slept?"

Sherlock gazes at him listlessly, unable to reach for the answer to Lestrade’s question. There’s a black fog at the edge of his vision and in it he can already see the cold eyes of his torturers, the images burned into his mind palace.

"Sherlock?"

"I can’t sleep," Sherlock rasps, his voice sounding defeated even to his own ears. "The flat’s empty and I can’t…. There’s nothing to stop it anymore, nothing to block it all out and Mycroft took away the drugs and I can’t, Lestrade, anymore, I…." He trails off, clenching his jaw. 

Lestrade blinks, his eyebrows drawing together, and Sherlock can see the puzzle pieces aligning in his head.

"Jesus, Sherlock," he says. "I’m sorry. Yeah, of course you can stay." There’s a pause, and then, "does John know?"

Sherlock stiffens. “There’s nothing for him to know. I’m clean. He has Mary now.”

"He still cares about you, Sherlock."

"It doesn’t matter," Sherlock says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He has to pretend it doesn’t matter. He always knew the day was coming, and now John has a wife and Sherlock is alone, just the way it was always going to be.

Lestrade just looks at him. When Sherlock refuses to say anything more, Lestrade sighs and shakes his head. “I’ll get you some sheets,” he says.


End file.
